


Crimson and Ivory

by jamiemackenziefraser



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood and Violence, F/M, Fantasy, Obsession, Unhealthy Relationships, Warrior!Jamie, but most of all they love each other :), dark lovers, we're not talking gore but like... they kill people, witch!claire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiemackenziefraser/pseuds/jamiemackenziefraser
Summary: Red Jamie and his infamous White Witch head an army that rolls through the countryside leaving carnage, chaos, and burgeoning legends in its wake. For Jamie, nothing matters beyond serving and possessing his lady, and the ethereal beauty of his fearsome lover is matched only by her bloodlust.They would more than let the world burn for each other— they would set it ablaze themselves.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	Crimson and Ivory

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a writer’s block exercise (so please be gentle with me) when I decided to write something that was the polar opposite of my current WIP “All That Was Fair.” Thus, the dark lovers AU was born, and now it has reached the light of day thanks to the lovely encouragement from my friend @crossworddreamer. This story does get dark and sees our beloved J&C doing bad things, so if that’s not your cup of tea, maybe check out All That Was Fair instead. Lastly, I imagine this taking place in a far distant, fantasy past (think like vikings pillaging across England except they're scots). It’ll probably be explained more later, but I wanted to set the stage.

Red Jamie watched with a deep sense of pride and ardor as his witch strode through the carnage of the battlefield. Her snowy white dress billowed around her, making her appear ethereal amidst the scattered bodies covered in blood and grime. The train streamed behind her, running over the grasping hands of men as they lay dying, but none of their filth could leave its stain on her. 

Golden eyes fixed suddenly on him from across the field, and the flames within stirred an answering call in his body. Her blood red lips curved into a smile. 

He went to her without awareness of his body moving. But it wasn’t her power that drew him in. Unlike everyone else that was near her, she had no use for magic on him. Her soul was bared, in all its twisted beauty, and he loved her for every part of it. He was under her spell without her having to lift even a finger or utter a single word. 

They met in a deep kiss— tongues battling, hands grasping, her body bending backward under the force of his passion. They devoured each other to the distant chorus of screams and cries of pain. Both of them were breathless by the time they drew back, but she just smiled up at him, quite composed. 

“You did well, an te ruadh agam.”  _ You did well, my red one.  _

“Only because of you, mo aun ghraidh,” he answered.  _ My one love. _

They called her the White Witch. Not because she was good— quite the opposite, in fact— but because of her air of enchanting beauty— skin so pale it gleamed like pearl and features even the most beautiful of goddesses would envy. But her beauty was rivaled only by her brutality. For every ounce of malicious cunning that filled Jamie, Claire matched it in spades. 

He led his army, sweeping the countryside while pillaging and burning any that stood in his way, while Claire remained at his side to ensure every victory.

They made a name for themselves. Enemies fled at the word that Red Jamie and The White Witch were nearing, and the few unfortunate souls who remained standing against them were met with death in abundance. 

Even his own men trembled in fear before her. If they didn’t fear Red Jamie for his ire and jealous bloodlust alone, they would still cower before Claire in her own right. She was a powerful witch, the most powerful the realm had seen in a long time, and it brought men and armies to heel. 

Even so, there were rules. Jamie made it crystal clear: Claire was  _ his. _ No man may look upon her directly and live. 

Feeling a surge of possessiveness, Jamie gathered her more tightly in his arms. He grasped a handful of her billowing curls and brought her mouth to his again. He could taste a hint of blood on her lips, and a growl began deep in his throat. 

“It’s only the blood of doves, mo fear ruadh,” Claire murmured against his lips to calm the boiling in his veins. 

He cradled her head gently in between his palms, settling. Only moments before, those very hands had snapped the necks of men with vicious pleasure. They smeared blood over the perfect alabaster of her skin, a fitting adornment better than any jewels. 

Jamie still buzzed with the feeling of power over death and life. As he cradled his Sassenach tenderly between his most powerful weapons, he felt both. She was his death and life, his forever and always. The entirety of her consumed him, possessed him, until he was sure he could never be whole without her. There was no certainty what the next life would be, but Jamie knew that they would face it together. 

Claire gave him a soft smile, her golden eyes glimmering with satisfaction, and pulled away. He watched her in fascination, obsession. With a sweeping turn, his love took his hand and led him across the battlefield, toward the place where his men were beginning to re-gather. 

At the sight of them coming, eyes lowered in deference. Bloodstained men still raging with the heat of battle fell quietly into place as Claire breached their ranks. 

“My friends,” she said softly, her voice echoing through the valley with unnatural amplification, “we have brought you victory and bloodshed this day. Tonight, we feast.” 

A roar went up from the gathered men, swords and shields lifted above heads. But Jamie had eyes for none but his love. Fixed on her, still trailing behind with her hand tucked in his, she was his only victory. 

He would burn the world for her just to lay it at her feet. 

And this day, they were one step closer. 

***

The men returned to camp with wilting shoulders and haggard steps. Every moment that passed after the heat of battle diminished the frenzied bloodlust, reminding them of how drained they were. 

But then the festivities began. 

Red Jamie and the White Witch never much partook in the victory reveling. Their pleasure lay only in each other, not the distraction of drink nor company of other men. They had each other, and that far surpassed anything the members of their army could ever dream. 

Jamie strode into camp with his love tucked to his side, his arm wrapped around her waist and pressing her possessively closer. She fit perfectly into him, her lithe body synced with his. 

Reaching their tent at the outskirts of camp, a fire already burning outside, Jamie dropped his sword and shield and sat down heavily. 

“Are you hurt?” She asked softly, sliding a tender hand over his shoulder, melting the tension in his aching muscles. 

“No’ a scratch,” he said with a grin, “they couldna touch me.” 

“Good,” she answered, sliding down next to him, “then we shall eat.” 

As the sun went down, a deep scarlet stretching across the sky that commemorated the blood spilled that day, Jamie and Claire sat in comfortable silence, listening to the distant festivities. Even when Claire went to discard her dress, Jamie remained seated and staring into the depths of the embers in front of him, wondering where the coming days would bring him. 

A short while later, Claire returned and perched on his lap. She began running her fingers through his blood-caked curls, smearing the stains on his cheekbones and leaning down to occasionally run her tongue over his salty skin. She was lounging in nothing more than her shift, her bare legs gleaming tantalizingly smooth in the moonlight. The men knew well that looking would be certain death, as did Claire. They all stayed far away from the tent that Jamie and Claire shared, but those who were forced to draw near out of duty (like the few unlucky servants tasked with providing for their every whim), kept their eyes averted from the tempting seductress that was Claire. 

It was instinct rather than jealousy that made Jamie’s hand wrap around her bare thigh as if to cover it with himself. 

Without warning, Claire abruptly slipped off Jamie’s lap, his hand falling away from her skin and making him jerk to attention. 

“I’m going to wash,” she purred to Jamie, slinking toward the fire. Shooting a glance over her shoulder, she raised a brow and asked, “care to join me?” 

He shook his head. “No, I would sit in the blood of my conquests for a short while longer, mo ghraidh. But I will watch you. Go along, darling.” 

Drifting like a shade on the moors, Claire floated out of sight toward the adjacent river. Men were drunk all throughout the camp, celebrating their victory, and Jamie bristled with the thought of the lustful thoughts over Claire that their filthy minds would conjure. 

With his blood already boiling, Jamie stood to his feet and made to follow a short ways behind his lover. 

She knew well what she was doing. She walked straight through the center of camp, allowing her shift to carelessly fall open. As she neared, though, the men instantly quieted. Dirty faces that were lit with drunken smiles mere moments before turned down solemnly, eyes covered or averted. 

Jamie paused, glaring into the crowd, searching for one face who may be out of line. But none did. He stomped into camp behind Claire, staking his claim. 

As she floated through the brush near the river, Jamie became suddenly aware of voices ahead. Men, laughing and reveling in drunken enjoyment. 

Jamie changed his footsteps to be silent as a mouse, sensing impending conflict. His hackles rose and the hair on the back of his neck bristled. The fingers of his left hand clenched and unclenched in a fist. 

He watched in rapture as Claire stopped in front of them. It was three men, all holding mugs of ale, and they had instantly closed their eyes and lowered their heads. 

“Good work, boys,” Claire cooed, her voice already sending pangs of jealousy through Jamie’s wame, “you fought bravely. You’ll be rewarded.” 

“Thank you, mistress,” one answered, his lips turning up in a smile although his eyes still remained firmly shut. 

“I’m going to bathe,” she announced in a voice so inviting it sounded like a hum. Jamie could have growled. It wasn’t an outright invitation by any means, but it was clear to him that she was toying with them. The minx loved to push him. That’s really what it was— her pushing  _ him _ , not the men. They were simply caught in the crossfire of her games.

As she made her way toward the river, swaying her hips to put on a show for Jamie, it took all his self control not to simply have it over with by killing the men. 

But he wouldn’t have to wait long. Sure enough, all three heads raised after only the length of three heartbeats of silence, and dirty, filthy eyes looked in the direction of Claire. His lover was standing bare in the moonlight, the skin of her arms and legs nearly glittering in their pale glory— entrancing to even the most noble of men. 

And Jamie was not a noble man. 

The moment the three men’s eyes fixed on her, he lunged forward. He seized the first one by the hair, reaching forward and plunging his dirk into the man’s eyes, one then the other, the squelching sound a satisfying balm to his frustrated bloodlust. The second man didn’t even have time to react before Jamie was drawing his sword and plunging it through his stomach. The third began to flee. Jamie withdrew his sword from the belly of the second and took two long strides forward before grabbing hold of the man’s neck and flinging him to the ground. 

“Mercy!” he cried, raising his hands as Jamie straddled him. 

“She is mine. No other man may look upon her in her entirety and live,” Jamie snarled. 

“She— she said—” 

That was enough for Jamie, and he plunged his dagger into the man’s eye. A frenzy overtook him, blacking out his vision, and he came to himself moments later to find he was still stabbing over and over into the bloody socket— the man long since dead. 

When he finally slowed, leaving one last hit for good measure, he took a deep breath, straightening his back. 

“You were playing with them,” Jamie said to the figure lurking behind him. 

“Sometimes I like to see your jealous side,” Claire replied innocently. 

He withdrew his dagger, wiping it carelessly on the dead man’s coat, and rose. Turning toward Claire, he found she was clothed in her shift again. 

He took three strides toward her and claimed her mouth roughly. 

Not giving her the satisfaction of making him give into his baser desires— as she so clearly wanted— he withdrew after only a moment. Her lips followed him, hovering mere inches away, but he kept the distance. 

“You shouldna tempt the men so,” he chided in a low voice, “or I’ll be fightin’ my own army.” 

“We have plenty to spare and more every day,” Claire dismissed with a wave of her hand and an impetuous smirk. 

Before Jamie could answer, a flicker of movement in the brush behind Claire caught his eye. 

_ Another onlooker.  _

He shoved her roughly to the side, drawing his dagger again with his ears roaring in anger. The insolence of his men in their drunken revelry was astounding and intolerable to him. 

Ready to separate flesh from bone, Jamie lunged toward the brush. At his abrupt move, the lurking figure shot to his feet. The man made to run, turning on his heel like a frightened rabbit, but Jamie was a great deal faster. 

He leapt over the bush in one smooth movement and seized the intruder by the collar. 

Just as he was about to bring his knife down to plunge it into his neck, something stilled his hand. An invisible restraint rendering him motionless. 

Narrowing his eyes, he glanced behind him to see Claire’s hand raised in a stilling gesture, her magic binding his hand. 

“Why—?” Jamie gritted, beginning to demand an explanation for her interference. 

But she cut him off before he could. “Look at him,” she said calmly, her gaze returning on the unfortunate soul in his clutches. 

Looking down at the figure for the first time with clear eyes, Jamie realized why Claire had stopped him. 

The man, really no more than a boy, was not one of theirs as he had assumed. He wore no armor, and his clothes were plain enough (though in better condition than most of Jamie’s men), but sticking out of his pocket was a scrap of cloth. 

With a growl, Jamie seized it and tore it free. 

Just as he suspected, it was an armband. A strip of deep blue cloth, exactly like that which his enemies wore into battle. 

“Sent here to spy, are ye?” Jamie kept his voice menacingly even.

“I— I’m—” the boy, a fair haired lad of no more than 16 began to stutter. His eyes were widened in fear, terror glittering in unshed tears as he trembled in Jamie’s grasp.

“What’s your name?” Jamie demanded. 

“J-John…” he whimpered, “John Grey.” 

“Well John, I need ye to deliver a message for me.”

At that, the lad’s eyes grew impossibly wider, and he began to struggle against Jamie’s hold. Tiny sounds of “ _ no, no,” and “just kill me” _ fell from his lips as Jamie looked behind him to nod at Claire. 

Stepping forward with a gleam of malicious pleasure in her eyes, Claire reached out a hand for the boy. 

“Shhh, shhh, it will only take a moment,” she cooed, brushing back the lad’s sweat-soaked hair with a tenderness that turned Jamie’s wame. He could have killed the boy for receiving such a touch from Claire, but he needed to hold fast to his purpose. 

Raising a finger tip, Claire began to delicately trace over the boy’s arm. A scream tore through the silence as his flesh parted in the wake of her touch, blood blossoming enticingly. Her work took only a second, but when she drew back, she had left a large, bloody carving of “J” in the boy’s tender flesh. 

The lad had stopped screaming, but tears and whimpers still echoed through the clearing. With a shove, Jamie released his captured prey. 

He took a deep breath, enjoying the sight of the boy staring up at him while frozen in motionless terror, his arm dripping blood onto the ground below.

“Tell Lord Randall that Red Jamie sends his regards.” 

  
***

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, what am I getting myself into? Well there it is. I cannot make any promises about the frequencies of updates because nothing more has been written yet, but I do have more in mind for this story and hope you stick around! Feel free to give me a follow on tumblr (same username) @jamiemackenziefraser to keep updated and see the mood board! Thanks so much for reading!! <3<3


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